Healing Gifts
by Random Ruth
Summary: Clara can only lie in her hospital bed and watch as the Doctor and Danny compete to make her feel better. Set in Series 8. One-shot.


**Author's Note:** Series 9 has reminded me how much I love Twelve and Clara. This popped into my head while I was reading hurt/comfort fics last night and would not let me go! Enjoy. :)

* * *

 **Healing Gifts**

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Danny pulls the bright blue privacy curtain closed around Clara's hospital bed. She's lying on her back, propped up on pillows. Her right leg, encased in a crisp white cast, is elevated on a cushion. Danny returns to his vigil at her bedside. She's given up trying to convince him that this all isn't his fault. She's just resting now, the painkillers numbing her mind somewhat. She wants to sleep, but she can't, because Danny keeps fidgeting in his chair.

She hears him coming before she sees him, but it's still a shock when a giant, oatmeal brown teddy bear pokes through the gap in the curtains. At her side, Danny jumps from his chair and stands to attention as if to guard her from danger.

"Clara! Clara! Clara, are you okay? Clara?" the giant bear chants, and Clara is pretty sure it's the painkillers doing the talking. She shakes her head, blinks, in an attempt to clear away some of the fog. The bear is still there, but the Doctor's head has popped out from behind its left shoulder now. With the bear still in his arms, he rushes closer, his big sad eyes full of concern. "Are you alright?" he asks again.

She musters a tiny, reassuring smile for him. "Doctor, I'm fine—"

"I brought you a present," he interrupts, "to make you feel better." He searches for somewhere to put the giant bear, eventually deciding that the floor is the only place with enough room. He angles it so the bear is facing Clara's bed, watching her. In her head, Clara names it Danny.

"It's alright, Doctor, you don't need—" Clara tries again.

"What happened?" he demands, attention now back with Clara. It's as if he hasn't noticed Danny—the real one—glaring at him from the other side of the bed.

She flicks an apologetic glance at Danny before she says it, and when she does say it, it comes out in a rush.

"I broke my leg while Danny was teaching me how to play croquet."

She watches Danny's reaction out of the corner of her eye. Embarrassment and guilt wrestle for dominance on his face.

The Doctor, incredulous, glares at Danny accusingly. " _Croquet?_ Have you any idea how _dangerous_ that is?"

Danny splutters, "Now hang on—" but the Doctor has already turned his attention back to Clara.

The Doctor waves the sonic screwdriver over Clara's cast leg like a painter starting a new canvas.

"See? It's okay," Clara says as gently and reassuringly as she can.

He seems at last satisfied that Clara is in no immediate danger, and puts the sonic back in his pocket.

To drive the point home, Danny—needlessly—adds, "She's fine."

That reminds the Doctor that Danny is there. He stares at him from the other side of Clara's bed. "I brought her a big cuddly bear. What did _you_ do to make Clara feel better?"

Danny bristles. "I brought her some flowers." He indicates with his hand the bouquet of red roses from the little shop downstairs that is sitting on the table next to Clara's head. He's forgotten to take the price tag off.

The Doctor scoffs. "How will they make Clara feel better?"

"They smell nice," Clara feels the need to interject. She is, as expected, ignored.

The Doctor reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out an aged piece of paper that is rolled up like a newspaper. "I've got the Magna Carta." He places it on the table next to Clara's water jug.

"Chocolates." Danny points at the box of chocolates—also from downstairs—sitting next to the bouquet.

"Fruit from the Yumbogo Tree." It glows faintly, smells funny. It joins the Magna Carta.

Danny digs in his pockets. "This notebook." He holds the blue notebook aloft, then slaps it down on top of the chocolates.

"A football from the 3498 World Cup quarter final." Clara grimaces at the mud caked on the leather.

Danny takes a moment longer to respond. "A _pen_ ," he says confidently, with no outward sign that he knows he will lose this battle, "for the notebook."

"A Maroon Crystal from the Moon of Poosh." The table with the water jug, the Magna Carta, the fruit and the football creaks dangerously under the crystal's weight.

"Chewing gum!"

"Sonic screwdriver!"

Pockets empty, they simply glare at each other over Clara's bed, both breathing heavily from the exertion of their quick-fire gift-giving.

After a moment, Clara clears her throat. No response. "I'm in tremendous pain! Ow, ow, ow!" she tries, but still no response. She sighs, picks up the notebook, and chucks it at Danny's head. That works, she notes with a small smirk.

Spell broken, Danny looks at her. "Yes?"

"I'm thirsty. Can I have some water please?" she asks sweetly. Danny and the Doctor both move to pour her a cup from the jug on the table at the same time. "From downstairs, _Danny_ ," she clarifies, and with one last heated glare at the Doctor, he walks off.

The Doctor waits until Danny's footsteps have retreated before he sheepishly says, "I might need this back, actually." His hand hovers just above the sonic screwdriver.

"Oh, I know you will," Clara says. "Right now, in fact."

"I do?"

"You're going to need it to catch that furry thing that's just come out of Danny's stomach."

The Doctor frowns at her, puzzled. First he looks at the gap in the curtain which Danny slipped through just a moment ago, and then he follows her gaze down to the giant teddy bear next to Clara's bed. The bear has suffered at fatal wound, its tummy burst open in the middle, fluffy stuffing strewn all over the floor. There's a glimpse of something small and purple as it scuttles under the privacy curtain, and then it's gone.

"Oh," the Doctor says. "Oh dear."

And then the whole ward erupts into startled screaming.

* * *

 **THE END**


End file.
